Today I am sitting in my usual Wednesday place…an intentional midweek practice of reading and reflecting. A few minutes ago I found myself reading through journal notes that I wrote nine years ago today—reflections, fears, and wonderings that were at work in me as our family was preparing to relocate from the Kansas City area to the Adirondack Mountains of New York State.
In my notes, I referenced two quotes—words that, in hindsight, both served as inspiration then and have guided so much of the past nine years in my life.
“I will purge my mind of the airy claims of church and state, and observe the ancient wisdom of tribesman and peasant, who understood they labored on the earth only to lie down in it in peace, and were content. I will serve the earth and not pretend my life could be better served.” —Wendell Berry in Art of the Commonplace
“Now as always, prophetic imagination depends on great intentionality, and it requires a host of reliable companions on the way from a failed world under judgment to a new world of good-news possibility. The ‘way’ is one of relinquishing what has failed (which we are likely to treasure) and receiving what God will give. It is a move from scarcity to abundance that is likely routed through lament to doxology.” —Walter Brueggemann in Prophetic Imagination (40th Anniversary version)
It struck me today that the link between the two quotes is grounded in the work Brueggemann called “great intentionality.” Berry’s wisdom invites us to be intentionally grounded—to stay close to what is real and generative…aware of the many airy claims bombarding our imaginations and keeping us from experiencing the reality of our world and life. In similar ways, Walter Brueggemann speaks of the great intention that is required for forward movement…out of the wontedness of our day and into a good-news kind of world where neighborliness, hospitality, and abundance have a say.
Current neuroscience and research in contemplative science reveal how powerful intentionality can be. Studies on mindfulness practices demonstrate that setting clear intentions shapes not only our mental focus but also our brain’s neural pathways. Psychologist Richard Davidson, a leading researcher on contemplative practices, highlights that intentional practices like meditation, gratitude reflection, or mindful walking can alter the brain’s default mode network—the system tied to rumination and anxiety. Intention itself, Davidson argues, is key to rewiring these mental patterns, helping us move from reactive states to responsive presence.
Similarly, social science research has found that intention is closely linked to resilience. Psychologist Angela Duckworth’s recent work on “grit” reveals that people who develop intentional habits in pursuit of meaningful goals experience greater perseverance and life satisfaction. The act of intention itself, in this sense, anchors us in purpose and meaning even when circumstances are uncertain.
Yes, living with “great intention” requires both Berry’s rootedness and Brueggemann’s readiness to relinquish. Berry reminds us that true contentment is always found in embracing the truth of the ground beneath our feet—the realities and limits of our earth, bodies, relationships, and daily tasks. And Brueggemann cautions us against clinging to what no longer serves us, urging us to move forward with courageous imagination and reliable companions (I need to explore more on the importance of reliable companions in a later post!).
It seems then, that great intention invites us to dwell fully in the present while remaining open to what is yet to come. It teaches us to ask: What am I actively holding on to that no longer serves life? What am I actively resisting that might bring newness and hope?
Perhaps this is the paradox of intention—it both roots us while calling us to relinquish. It steadies us in what is real while preparing us for what is possible. Like planting a garden, great intention requires us to experience depth and grittiness of the soil of our lives while trusting that something new will emerge in good time.
And as Brueggemann reminds us, the way forward is often “routed through lament to doxology.” We let go, we grieve what is gone, and in doing so we make space to sing a new song for new life about to unfold.
So today, perhaps the most intentional act you can take is to pause. Plant your hands in the soil of your own life. Ask what is good for you to invest in and what is inviting you to move on. In that space—between grounding and growth—may you discover the gifts of living with great intention.
Shane Ash 